The broken ones
by AWanderingSoulSometimesLost
Summary: Trapped in the enemy's lair (where she's forced to train newly-discovered Shadowhunters) and separated from her family (who might have betrayed her) and best friend (who is perhaps in love with her), Jamie Lightwood feels lost. But the enemy doesn't want her lost - they want her (and the people closest to her) broken. Sequel to The lost ones. I own nothing.
1. Chapter 1: Alec

**Sorry for the wait since the end of _The lost ones_. First my computer was feeling very uncooperative for quite a long time, then my muse suffered from the same disease. But finally, here we are. **

**For those of you who stumbled upon this story without having ready _The lost ones_ (if there are such people here), you should definitely check that story first, because reading this story first would be like reading _City of Ashes_ without having previously read _City of Bones_. Just an advice.**

 **I'm sorry for any grammar or spelling mistake, I hope they won't bother you too much.**

 **Just to point out, this happens right after the end of TLO. There will be time jumps in this story, so I'll write in the AN exactly when events in the chapter take place (it'll probably be written somewhere in the text too, but this way it'll be easier to avoid any confusion). I hope that won't bother you.**

 **Okay, I think I've said (written?) everything I needed to say. I hope you'll like the story :)**

"Jonathan Wayland."

It seems as the whole universe holds its breath when the Inquisitor makes a brief pause after uttering Jace's full name, her voice echoing the crowded room that is as quiet as though it was empty.

"Where have you been for the past hour?" The question cuts through the silence like a knife.

She and my _parabatai_ glare at each other for a few long moments, as if having a competition the rest of us in the room takes no part in. Jace's eyes are so narrowed I can barely see the gold of his irises, his breathing heavy as if he was about to roar like a lion declaring war on a rivalling pack. The Mortal sword rests on his palms; his arms don't tremble in the slightest under its weight.

"Outside." He replies ambiguously, seemingly unaffected by the Inquisitor's sternness. Good – if _I'm_ buying his act, then so is everyone else. "If I'd stayed in the Institute, something bad might have happened; far it be from me to have all of you on my conscience."

For the briefest of seconds, his gaze clashes with mine, despite the fact we're standing on the opposite sides of the room, with more than fifty Shadowhunters between us like a river that separates two banks. They all turn around to glance at me, but I keep my eyes on Jace, even as he looks away. When their attention finally abandons me, Mom's hand wraps around my wrist, as if telling me to stay strong in the face of Jace's insinuations.

If she only knew how hard that actually was. If she only knew the whole truth.

But this is a battle Jace, Izzy and I must fight alone. We can't trust anyone, not even our parents, considering their past in the Circle. Everyone in this Institute could be secretly working for Valentine; trust is a luxury we can't afford.

"Clarissa Fairchild seems to have shared your need to clear your head." The Inquisitor's cold gaze returns to Jace. "We can't find her anywhere. Where is she?"

Jace doesn't break the eye-contact for a moment.

"I don't know."

The Inquisitor breathes in sharply, as if surprised by his answer. But she can't accuse him of lying, not with the Mortal sword resting in his hands.

"Did you see her after you'd left the Institute?"

For a split of a second, he hesitates.

"Yes."

My breath catches; I make a step backwards to hide my reaction from Mom's eyes, feeling my back bump into a wall, which enables me to keep my balance. I didn't expect Jace's answer to this question to be affirmative.

He had left the Institute to meet Valentine, as we'd planned. Where could he have seen Clary?

Unless…

"Where?"

"Outside."

 _Shit._

What did that foolish girl think, leaving on her own to the Angel knows where? As if we don't have enough on our plate already. What if Valentine has her too? What if she's heard me and Jace discussing this charade? What if she babbles out the truth to Valentine? If she does, Jamie's done for.

"Did she tell you anything?" The Inquisitor's voice barely reaches me though the sound of my racing heartbeat. "Her plans, where she was going?"

"No."

"Did you see where she went?"

"No."

The Inquisitor crosses her arms behind her back and turns away from Jace. She remains silent for what seems like ages, thinking Jace's answers over, comparing them to mine and Isabelle's. So far, the only new piece of information she's acquired is that Clary had left the Institute, but as for her current location, not even Jace, who has last seen her, knows it.

It's impossible to say whether that's a good or a bad thing. But it would definitely be a good thing if we were done with…

"As I understand, Valentine holds someone you care for hostage." My hands clench into fists instinctively as the Inquisitor turns to Jace again. My heartbeat, which has only just returned to its normal pace, starts racing again. "Jacqueline Lightwood?"

Jace and I blink in confusion as one; it takes a moment for me to realize the source of it. By the Angel, we are so used to Jamie's name of choice that her full name sounds like a stranger's.

After he pulled himself together, Jace nods stiffly, as if he can't bring himself to utter a single syllable on the matter. Unfortunately, the Inquisitor seems to have sensed her prey's weakness and launches a merciless attack.

"While you were gone, did you meet him and tried to make a deal that would save her?"

I feel like I've been hit in the stomach; I have to force the air into my lungs. We were so close to avoiding the catastrophe and then it all collapsed like a sand castle hit by a wave.

Jace's eyes spread in alarm, his arms shaking under the weight of the Sword. He opens his mouth, but then lets out a choking sound, as if the Sword's power will sooner strangle him than let him utter a lie.

"Yes." He says at last, gasping for air. He swallows hard, his face pale as the wall behind his back.

The room explodes with whispering; some people look absolutely scandalized. I feel Mom stiffening in shock next to me, but I don't take my eyes off Jace. After a few moments, the Inquisitor crosses her arms over her chest like a disappointed parent. She moves one step closer to Jace, who, having caught his breath, stands up straight, glaring at her defiantly. He won't be intimidated or forced into submission by her or by anyone else in this room. He spent a part of his life in a lion's den; there's nothing the Clave can do to scare him – especially because what he's doing, he's doing it for Jamie.

 _He became my parabatai for her and he supposedly cares for me._ A bitter voice inside my mind remarks ironically. _Lying to the Clave for her probably comes to him as easily as breathing._

"Where is Valentine?" The Inquisitor moves to stand right in front of Jace, breathing the question into his face. His voice has grown colder, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I don't know." Jace replies stiffly.

The Inquisitor's posture becomes rigid like stone. I hold my breath as she ponders her next words, assuming she's barely restraining herself from unleashing her fury on Jace.

"Then how did you contact him?" She demands icily.

"After he learned it wasn't me who had notified the Clave we had the Cup, he sent me a note telling me where and when to meet him." I pray with all my heart nobody notices Jace's answer made it seem it was Valentine who had initiated the correspondence, not Jace himself. Luckily, he keeps speaking without any interruption. "So I went to meet him, hoping he might agree to take me as hostage in Jamie's place. I knew it was unlikely, but I had to try."

Then his gaze abandons the Inquisitor and turns to the rest of his audience.

"The fact that he knew the Clave was in the possession of the Cup proves one thing." He says matter-of-factly, his eyes wandering from one person to another, judging, accusing. "He has spies within the Clave. I don't know who they are or how many of them are there, but some people as not as loyal as they seem. And now the Cup is within their grasp, which means it's only a matter of time before Valentine gets his hands on it. Think about that."

"Enough." The Inquisitor raises a hand to silence another round of shocked whispering. Two older Shadowhunters approach her, waiting for instructions, but she keeps her eyes on Jace. "I have one last question for you. Did you promise Valentine you'd bring him the Cup in exchange for your friend's life?"

This time, Jace doesn't even bother to try to come up with a lie.

"Yes." He nods firmly. "I did."

"And yet you dare accuse other of disloyalty to the Clave." The Inquisitor waves her hand and the two Shadowhunters take hold of Jace's arms. "Lock him up in a room without windows. Two guards in front of it at all times. He can't leave or receive any visitors unless I say so."

My every instinct screams at me to break through the crowd that separates me from Jace and break a wrist or two of the two men that are holding him. My fingers itch with the desire to fight for my _parabatai_ , as I always have. But I can't. I have to keep pretending I think he deserves what's coming to him. I have to look away from in apparent embarrassment and walk out of the room before he and the men at his sides catch up with me.

I feel lost in a dark night in a snow storm, with no place to hide and nothing to keep me warm. My sister is captured by the enemy, my _parabatai_ is locked up by the Clave and my other siblings hate my guts. I've never felt this alone in my life, like I've been dropped on a deserted island with nothing but the sea and the sky in my line of view. The only people I _can_ trust are about as far out of my reach as the stars.

Magnus' face appears in my mind's eye, but I shove the thought away immediately. He can't help me, not with half of the Clave roaming the Institute. It would be too dangerous (in more ways than one) to drag him into this.

In need of a distraction, I find myself in a training room. Luckily, it's empty, as everyone has been occupied with either Jace's questioning or moving in. I take my shirt off and approach a boxing bag. It takes less than a minute for me to start sweating, as I push myself farther than ever just to drown my worries in the ocean of physical pain.

"Want to spar?"

Startled by the unfamiliar voice, but determined not to show it, I turn around slowly, giving myself time to school my features into a neutral expression. I meet green eyes of a boy around my age or maybe a little older under a bunch of dirty blond locks. He smiles amiably as he approaches me. My eyes glance at his perfectly built torso of their own accord; I bite my lip forcefully to keep my mind from wandering to places it has no business or time to wander to.

"I…" I don't want to be rude, but I really feel no need for company at the moment. "No, thanks. Some other time, maybe."

"As you wish." The boy shrugs his shoulders casually, turning around to find something else worthy of attention. But halfway around, he turns to me again. "That was your _parabatai_ who pissed off the Inquisitor, wasn't it?"

I swallow hard, but I force myself to nod.

"Well, I wish I'd got to shake his hand before they locked him up." The blonde picks a blade and turns to targets nearby. "I've always hated the old bat. Has a stick up her ass the size of Patagonia."

My mouth falls open. I've never heard anyone disrespect the Inquisitor so openly (aside from Jace).

"My father has…more progressive views on some things and he raised me with those beliefs." He explains evenly when he sees my baffled expression. "And _she's_ stuck in Middle Ages. She sees my father's beliefs as weakness and doesn't hesitate to say so. Behind his back at least."

I don't know what to say to that, so I remain silent. The blonde throws the blade; he hits bull's eye.

"Impressive." I don't trust myself to say more with my mind being flooded with memories of Jace and Jamie doing the exact same thing countless times in this very room.

"Thanks." He picks up the blade and moves to stand further from the target than the first time, almost within arm's reach from me. He makes as if to throw the blade again, but then pauses, switches the hand that holds the blade and stretches his now empty hand out towards me. "I'm David, by the way. From the Buenos Aires Institute."

I wipe my hand clean of sweat against my trousers.

"Alec."

We shake hands.

"So, what did your _parabatai_ do to piss off the Evil Queen?" David asks as he turns to the target again and sets his aim.

Once again, I find it very difficult to breathe.

"You…" I clear my throat nervously. "You weren't there when she questioned him?"

"No." He shakes his head without taking his eyes off the target. "My _parabatai_ and I were busy delivering everyone's things to their rooms. As we are the youngest members of the Clave that have come here, we're at the bottom of the food chain."

"Why _did_ you come here?" I can't imagine why anyone would willingly get themselves into the middle of this mess.

David throws the blade as perfectly as the first time and then turns to me again.

"Because for once, I want to be where the important things happen." He answers with fire in his eyes. "I've been standing on the sidelines my entire life. I'm done with that."

He stares at me challengingly for a few moments, as if daring me to laugh, but I'm not tempted in the least. This whole situation might a mess for me, because I have so much to lose, but for other people, it might be an adventure, a chance to prove themselves.

"And your _parabatai_ feels the same?" I ask, having noticed he had declared the reasoning to be his own, not necessarily his _parabatai_ 's as well.

His expression softens, but then he closes his eyes and sighs, as if in pain.

"Oliver would rather have stayed in Argentina, but I convinced him we should go to New York." He shrugs his shoulders almost apologetically. "He's…well, not as keen on fighting. He's not bad at it, mind you, but he'll always take the peaceful route if he can find it. And we all know there won't be a peaceful route in this situation."

I can't argue with that. I can only hope that when the fighting is done, we are the ones left standing.

"So, what did your _parabatai_ do?" David repeats his previous question, but this time he's looking me straight in the eyes.

I know I can't wangle my way out of this. Not by the means of lies anyway.

"He…" I clear my throat again; I need to stop doing that. Nobody's going to mistake my anxiety for a cold. "He tried to hide from the Clave that the Cup was here."

David looks at me as though I went crazy.

"Why?" It takes a few moments for him to recover from the astonishment my statement caused. When he finally does, there's a trace of hesitation in his voice. "I mean… he isn't actually on Valentine's side, is he?"

"No." I hurry to shake my head, relieved I could say one thing about Jace that doesn't come as me slandering him for his choices. "But he…he wants to make a deal with Valentine. The Cup for…" Another breath gets stuck in my throat. "For a person we care for."

"Well, that's far better than him being on Valentine's side, isn't it?" Judging by the way David's eyes narrow knowingly, he didn't miss my use of 'we'. "For whom?"

I can't bear the gaze of those emerald eyes any longer. I can't bear the answer I'm about to give.

"For…for my sister."

There is a long silence after that, during which I count my heartbeats as means of distraction, before David speaks again.

" _Your_ sister?" I can hear the unspoken part clearly.

 _Why is he the one trying to make that deal, not you?_

A second hasn't passed since Jamie was taken that I haven't thought of her. Nobody – _nobody_ – wants her to come home more than me. Not even Jace.

"I…" I can feel my hands shaking in helplessness, my tongue tangle in fear of consequences of my actions. What excuse is there for such a crime – even if I haven't actually committed it? What if me agreeing to go through with Jace's plan gets Jamie killed? "I couldn't… I had to…"

My voice drifts off into desperate silence. There are no words that can fill it. There's nothing I can say that would make my choices any less questionable.

"I don't think I would have been able to do it."

Startled, I look at David instinctively, thinking I've heard him wrong. He seems to struggle with returning my gaze, as if he's the one who should be ashamed of his actions, not me.

"Choose the greater good over my family." He murmurs so softly I barely catch it, his gaze coming to rest on the blade in his hands.

I have no idea what to say. I still feel the need to explain myself, still don't believe he doesn't fault me for my choices when I can't stop blaming myself. He's the only person I've spoken so far who seems to understand how much giving the Cup to the Clave has cost me. He's not patting me on the shoulder for a job well done nor does he hate me for choosing 'greater good' over my own sister. For the first time since I sent that note to Idris I feel like my life isn't about to fall apart like a house of cards at any moment.

Suddenly, David begins to walk away, without another word. He returns the blade to its place and slowly heads for the door, as if he's suddenly carrying something heavy on his shoulders – the weight of my confession, perhaps.

"Where are you going?" I ask before I can stop myself.

He finally turns to me again, but his eyes don't truly meet mine.

"I guess you'd rather be left alone." He shrugs his shoulders apologetically. "I'm sorry to have bothered you with my presence in your…situation."

He looks genuinely troubled by the thought he intruded on my very much needed moment of solitude. While I truly had no desire for company when he entered the room (and still don't have it), the sympathy he showed me made me feel – if not better, then certainly less… alone.

"I still owe you that sparring." I say, not quite managing to crack a smile, but feeling the knot in my stomach relax a bit.

David nods with the slightest quirk of his lips.

"I'll hold you to your word."

When he leaves the room, I let out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding, feeling like for the first time in a while, I can truly breathe.


	2. Chapter 2: Isabelle

**I'm sorry for any grammar or spelling mistake.**

"Ready to go?"

"Yeah." Simon nods at me, tucking his hands into the pockets of his brown jacket in apparent nonchalance, as if I don't already know he's only done it to hide the fact they're shaking. "Sure. If you are…"

I grab his forearm, thus putting an abrupt end to his ramblings.

"Simon." I say in my most authoritative tone, commanding him to calm down. "We're just going to your house. You're going to explain to your mom you won't be home for a few days because you've got to practice with your band. You have a place to crash and you're going to be fine. Clear?"

He opens his mouth to protest, something along the lines of ' _It's going to be a lot more than a few days and committing treason is hardly as harmless as band rehearsals._ ', but I squeeze his arm (perhaps a little too harshly), interrupting him before he can utter a word.

"You're going to be fine." I tell him, this time as encouragement rather than instructions. "Just don't start babbling like this."

"But I'm really, really, _really_ bad at lying." He shakes his head, starting to babble exactly as I'd _just_ told him _not_ to. "They're going to see right through me and they'll want to know what's going on and how do I explain to them that I'm..."

"Look," I struggle not to show my frustration; he's nervous enough as it is and additional pressure from me wouldn't help. "If you want to help us save Clary, without endangering other people you care for, you _have to_ do it. She'd do it for you, wouldn't she?"

That renders him speechless. I regret having to remind him of Clary's fate, but it seems to be the only thing that can strengthen his resolve. He needs something to fight for.

"Let's go." I pull him into the elevator.

On our way out, we bypass a few older Shadowhunters who are heading in the opposite direction. Luckily, everyone in the Institute is so busy these days nobody pays the slightest bit of attention to our comings and goings. To the Clave, me and Simon are just a rookie who wants to prove herself and her puppy. The only person whom is a challenge to avoid is Mom.

"Luke will meet us at your place?" I check with him once again when we're out of earshot.

He nods. "He's going to kill me for not having noticed Clary was gone."

"You couldn't have known she was going to follow Jace." I say reassuringly.

"I should have expected she would." He sighs, disappointed in himself. "When the Clave got the Cup, she lost the only thing she could trade for her mother. I should have known she would try to rescue her on her own."

He looks crestfallen; the loss of Clary has taken a great toll on him. He's been exceptionally good at keeping it all together so far, but I can tell he's not far from cracking. It doesn't help that he's going home – it's a place that he also associates with her, with their old lives. Lives in which they weren't hunted by a power-hungry lunatic who is also Clary's mother's ex-husband.

"She'll be fine." My words don't sound utterly convincing to my own ears, but if I don't believe them, how can Simon? "She's got Jamie with her."

Simon looks at me in bewilderment, as if he's not sure if I'm being serious or making fun of him.

"I suppose we can hope Valentine will get tired of the two of them barking at each other and hand them over peacefully just to get rid of them." His tone isn't entirely ironical; I find it hard to suppress a laugh. "Hardly, but…"

The laugh fades away from my lips all too soon. I wish it were that easy. Jamie and Clary are simply too valuable pawns to be handed over. With them under his thumb, Valentine can force Jace to do whatever he wants him to. It's what it all comes down to in the end – Valentine assessing his son's loyalties.

When we finally reach Simon's place, a cute little house covered with ivy, with flowers decorating the balcony and the window through which I can see shadows moving (Simon's mom or his sister), Luke's already there, waiting for us.

"Luke." Simon looks beyond relieved to see a familiar face and the werewolf seems equally as glad to see him alive and well.

"Are you okay?" He asks, shooting me a threatening glare that promises trouble if Simon's answer is anything but positive.

I choose to ignore him.

"I…I'm okay, but Clary…"

I can tell by the choking sounds he's making that Simon has no idea how to say what's got to be said, even though he insisted he needed to tell the story to Luke in person. According to what he told me about Luke, the guy's basically Clary's father; I understand why he's having trouble finding the right words, but we don't have all day, so I decide to step in.

"Why don't you go talk to your mom and I'll fill him in?" Gently, but unyieldingly, I push Simon towards the door that lead to his house.

"I…"

"We'll play nicely, I promise." It's only after those words come out of my mouth that I remember Simon doesn't know much about tensions between Shadwhunters and Downworlders, so my choice of words doesn't really matter.

With one final pleading glance at us, Simon finally enters the house. I check the street for any unwanted ears and then I turn to Luke, who's staring at me with his eyes narrowed and his arms crossed over his chest.

Seriously, he thinks I'll be intimidated by that?

"When I last saw her, Clary convinced me to let her come with you." He growls at me; for a moment, his eyes flash gold menacingly. "Two days later, she's gone."

I force myself to retell the events that have happened since we parted ways at Renwick's in the calmest tone I can muster. Of course, I skip the part about Valentine being Jace's father, our plans for stealing the Cup and the fact that I'm supposedly pissed at Alec for his betrayal. The less people know what's really going on behind the curtains, the better.

"I shouldn't have let her go with you." Luke says after I finish. He looks even more pissed than before. "I should have taken her with us. She would have been safer with me."

I'm just about to point out that it isn't our fault that Clary's got self-sacrificing tendencies, but we're interrupted by Simon's return. He looks relieved, which I take as a good sign.

"I _think_ they believed me." The relief evaporates from his features as he looks at me. "Did you tell him…"

I nod as an answer to his unfinished question. He swallows hard, but gathers his courage and turns to Luke.

"Luke, I'm sorry, I should have kept an eye…"

"I'm not mad at _you_ , Simon." Luke cuts him off; I feel the accusation in his tone and it's not directed at Simon. "I'm mad at myself for letting you and Clary out of my sight." _And at the Shadowhunters for having been so careless they let Clary wander off straight to Valentine._

"Do you have any idea where she could be?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

His narrowed eyes meet mine again.

"You were in the Circle once." I say directly before he can answer; I don't have the strength to play yet another game. "Do you know of any place Valentine could use as a hideout? Where he could have taken her?" _And Jamie?_

He studies my face for a few moments, as if trying to decide if I was too rude to be given an answer.

"He and Jocelyn used to live in the Fairchild manor." He replies finally, shrugging his shoulders. "But it was burned down years ago. We all thought he and their son had died in the fire."

 _ **Their**_ _son?_ I glance at Simon, but he doesn't look surprised. It seems he and Clary have neglected to mention some things (though, it's not like I can call them out on it, given that we haven't been completely honest with them either). So, if Jace is Valentine and Jocelyn's son, that means… _Jace and Clary are…half-siblings?_ _Or maybe even full-blooded siblings? By the Angel._

I want to say something, but the promise I made to Jace keeps my lips sealed. It's his secret and only he can decide when and with whom he wants to share it. So I open my mouth to ask whether there is any other useful clue we could follow, but I never get the chance.

Suddenly, something knocks me over and I fall on the ground. A moment later, I find myself staring at the black depths of a demon's mouth, its teeth trying to bite off my head. Its breath smells of rotten flesh, drops of acidic saliva dripping onto my hair. I grab its head and try to force it away from my jugular vein, but I don't have the strength to shove it away.

Just when my arms start giving way, the demon suddenly disappears. I jump onto my feet, whip in hand, and look around, searching for a target. I notice a werewolf running its teeth into another demon, thirst for blood sparking in its emerald eyes. I turn around, looking for the demon that nearly took off my head, but I'm completely taken aback when I notice another werewolf biting its leg off.

I don't have the time to figure this out, because another two demons appear at my side. My whip wraps around one demon's leg and knocks it off its feet, leaving burning marks in its wake, while I pierce the other demon's heart with an accurately thrown blade. The air is filled with screeching of the demons; with a grin on my face, I silence mine with a stab of a heel through its throat.

And people say high heels are only useful when one wants to look pretty.

My ears filled with the sound of the demon choking in its own blood, I register the sound of an enemy behind my back a heartbeat too late. But when I turn around (half-expecting a harsh pull at my hair), the demon lies dead at my feet with an arrow in its back.

"You really ought to be more careful, Isabelle." I separate my eyes from the demon and direct my gaze at the owner of the familiar voice. "Had I not been there, you would be dead."

"Meliorn?" He smirks at the disbelief in my voice. "What are you doing here?"

"You told me to meet you tonight." He walks over to me gracefully; one of the many gifts the Fair Fold possesses that are beyond appealing. "Do you not remember?"

 _Shit._

I _did_ tell him to meet me tonight, but it was ages ago and with everything that's happened, I completely forgot about it. What he and I share might only be a matter of physical attraction, but only an idiot would make a mistake of ignoring one of the Fair Folk. They're not particularly good at forgiving or understanding.

"I…" It takes a few moments for my sleep-deprived mind to connect the dots and launch a counterattack. "We were supposed to meet in front of the Institute."

"I was there." He says with a note of amusement to his voice that sends shivers down my spine. "I saw you and your mundane companion walk past me as if I was invisible."

Of course, he could have let us know he was there, but he didn't. I bit my lip nervously; what did he hear that he wasn't supposed to?

"Can you imagine my most unpleasant surprise," A cruel grin appears on his lips, "When I learned the Clave had retrieved the Mortal cup and didn't bother to notify Downworlders?"

"The Mortal Instruments are Shadowhunters' business." I counter immediately with an air of superiority, but on the inside I'm mentally slapping myself for having made such a foolish mistake. "Not yours."

"They are a weapon that, in the wrong hands, can wipe out the entire Downworld." He says matter-of-factly; I can't belie him. "If the Clave wants peace, they should be more honest with their allies."

I don't miss the hidden meaning of his words; if we continue to keep the truth from Downworlders, they'll turn from allies into enemies. We simply don't have the means to handle both Valentine and a possible rebellion at the same time. We need Downworlders on our side – or at least, not against us.

A loud cry reaches my ears, interrupting my musings about politics.

 _Simon._

I run for the source of the whimpers, my heels clicking against the asphalt. I find Simon sitting on the ground in the closest side alley, leaned on a wall that surrounds the yard of a neighbouring house. He's surrounded by two figures; I recognize one of them as Luke, but the dark-haired girl with curly dark hair and amber eyes kneeling next to Simon is unfamiliar to me.

"Oh, God, please no." I hear her whisper in horror. My heart starts pounding wildly again. "Please, no."

"What happened?" I ask nobody in particular as I kneel down next to the girl. I notice blood soaking the left pants leg of Simon's jeans; when I tear the fabric apart to reveal the wound, I find traces of teeth on his skin.

"I had to get him out of the way." The girl says without looking at me; I'm not exactly sure as to whom she's trying to convince. "I tried to grab just his clothes, but I…"

"It's okay." Simon addresses her softly, but his voice isn't entirely even. "I'll be on my feet in no time."

"It's not that." I say breathlessly, noticing I'm holding my stele. I don't even remember reaching for it; it must have been an instinctive reaction. But it's of no use now; even if Simon wasn't a mundane… "You…You could be Turning."

He blinks, then chuckles nervously, as if waiting for me to drop the act and laugh in his face.

"Turning?" His face grows paler with every silent second that passes. "Into…"

"He needs to stay with us." Luke interferes, looking at me. He isn't asking this because he distrusts me; his eyes are wide with fear for Simon.

I can't think of any counterargument. He's right. Staying with Luke's pack is the best thing for Simon right now, at least until…

"When's the next full moon?"

"In three days." Luke replies straightaway. "We'll take care of him. If he _does_ Turn…"

"Let me know." I insist firmly. I feel responsible for this; Simon would never have got anywhere near danger if I hadn't insisted he went to talk to his family. I just wanted to avoid any inconveniences that would come with a mundane disappearing off the face of the Earth without a proper explanation. If only I hadn't been so stubborn… "Please. But just me."

My desperation must be clearly written all over my face; Luke nods in agreement.

"Do you have a phone?" He asks, taking his own cell phone out of his back pocket.

I do have a phone, but it's not mine; it belongs to the Institute. Luckily, Clary had left her cell phone in the Institute before she went after Jace, so I smuggled it, hidden in a cup turned upside down, to Jace when I once brought him a meal. So far, that means of communication hasn't failed us, but I haven't counted with me and Simon separating. I need his cell phone to keep in touch with Jace, but if Simon stays with Luke…

"Take mine." Simon takes his cell phone out of the pocket of his jacket. When I open my mouth to object, he silences me by putting the cell phone into my hand. "I'll use Luke's if I need to contact you."

I smile at him gratefully as I take the cell phone. I don't think I've ever meet a guy as good-hearted as Simon (and I've met quite a lot of guys). Despite everything that's happened to him (and despite some of it being my fault), he's always so kind to me. I can't escape the feeling that I don't really deserve it, but this isn't the time to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Thanks." I put the cell phone into my jacket and then get onto my feet. "I need to get back." I turn to Luke, who nods solemnly. "Please, call me as soon as you know anything."

"Be careful." He tells me in a more caring tone than I would have expected, glancing at the main street where we fought demons only a few minutes ago – side by side. "There are other demons where those came from."

 _Meliorn._ I suddenly recall my sort-of-boyfriend, but when I emerge back onto the main street, he's nowhere in sight. He must have run off to notify his Queen of the new developments. I let out a frustrated hiss, cursing my own carelessness and the duplicity of the Fair Folk. _Shit._

I don't think this evening could become any worse, but I'm proven wrong when the first person I come across when I return to the Institute is Mom.

"Where have you been?" She demands the moment she sees me exiting the elevator.

"I went to Simon's." I answer coldly as I pass her by. "His mom was worried, so we went to his house so he could tell her he wouldn't be around for a couple of days."

There's a moment of silence as she analyses my words, probably so she could come up with some complaint.

"And where is the mundane now?"

I pause in my steps. _Simon, mom. His name is Simon._

"His mom insisted he stayed at home for a day or two." I say without turning around to look at her. It's the only believable explanation I've managed to come up with. "She wouldn't let him leave so soon. I had no choice but to leave him there."

"Isabelle, do you have any idea…"

"I'm not an idiot!" I cut her off, turning around so I can look her in the eyes. I'm too tired for her endless flow of questions and doubts. "I made sure nobody followed us. I made sure nobody saw me. Simon will keep quiet about us. Now excuse me, I want to go to bed."

"Isabelle…"

I start running, giving my best to ignore the sound of her voice. I don't care how childish that act makes me look; I really don't have the strength to deal with this.

 _Jamie would handle this much better._ I think to myself as I run through the corridors with tears in my eyes. I miss her more than I even thought I could. _She's always had the knack for acting. She'd keep up the pretence for as long as necessary. She wouldn't be cracking two days into it._

I burst into my room and slam the door shut. Breathing heavily, I close my eyes and turn around to lean onto the door. My back slides down the wood slowly as my legs give way. When I land on the floor, I grab my hair and rub my scalp, trying to force my overwhelmed mind to relax just for a moment.

"Tough day, huh?"

My head snaps upwards; I notice a guy standing next to a bed – that's not _my_ bed.

Demons' attack, Simon being bitten, Meliorn learning about the Cup, Mom's questioning, and now this? By the Angel, can this day become any worse?

"I'm sorry." I scramble to my feet, using the doorknob to support myself. I keep my eyes on the floor, hiding my flushed cheeks from the guy's gaze behind the locks of my hair. I don't think I've ever felt this awkward in my life. "I…I didn't mean to disturb you."

"If your intention was _not_ to disturb me, you are just in time." The light-heartedness of his tone makes me swallow down my shame. I glance at him through my eyelashes; for a moment, I allow myself to be bewitched by the teasing smile playing on his lips. He bends down and reaches for something on the bed; when he stands up straight, he's holding a violin and a bow. "I was about to practice, but you'd caught me just before I began."

I smile against my will. It's probably the genuineness of his tone that gets me, without a single flirty note to it. His olive-green eyes are glued to my face, which kind of surprises me; most other boys would steal at least a glance at my body. _Perhaps I should introduce him to Alec._

But I can't even look at Alec with anything but anger in my eyes, let alone play matchmaker. If the wrong people were to see us…

"I better go before you start." I reach for the doorknob with my hand outstretched behind my back. I don't really want to let his handsome face out of my sight just yet. "I'm really sorry for bursting in like this."

"It's alright." He nods. The smile vanishes from his face and I actually feel robbed. "I would be distracted in your situation too."

I feel cold dread cutting through my stomach like a knife. I swallow hard, not trusting myself to say a word without falling apart. It'll have to wait until I'm surrounded by four walls of my own room; I just have to make it there.

"I'm sorry." He says remorsefully. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"I'm thinking about it all the time." I shrug my shoulders tiredly, feeling tears forming in the corners of my eyes.

I feel so alone. Simon was the only ally I had, the only one I could talk to, but now he's gone too – and it's my fault. Sometimes I feel like Max is the only one of my family I've got left, but he's too young to carry the burden of being my confidant. I need Jamie back and Alec and Jace at my side. I need them desperately.

I yawn and rub my eyes in the best imitation of need for sleep, but I don't think I've fooled anyone.

"I should go." I open the door and rush out without waiting for an answer.

Luckily, the corridor is empty and my room is only a door far; a heartbeat later, I'm inside my (locked) room, lying on my bed, _trying_ to keep it all together – and failing. I feel everything falling apart within me, my broken thoughts assembling in my stomach like a pile of broken glass. Tears I've been holding back for days start pouring down my cheeks and soon I feel salt on my tongue, choking on the taste of it as it were blood.

A gentle sound somehow makes it past my heavy sobs, maybe just because it soothes my soul, rather than cutting through it cruelly. It's a classical piece, but I'm too tired and too uninterested to try to remember exactly which one.

( _Jace would know instantly. And Jamie. And Alec. And even Max._ )

Pushing the thoughts of my family aside, I hold firmly onto the soft melody, pricking my ears so I can hear it through the wall that separates my room from…

I remember the face – we crossed paths when he moved in, his _parabatai_ introduced them – but I can't remember the name that goes with it for the life of me.

 _Black Swan._ The name of the piece suddenly occurs to me. _She appeared at the ball as Odette and tricked the prince into declaring love for her. Because of her and her father's schemes, the story ended in tragedy._

The melody follows me into the uneasy sleep full of twisting and turning.

 _I dream of a street I don't recognize, empty of life. There's no-one around me, not even in the buildings made of glass. Yet I feel like I'm being watched, my skin covered in gooseflesh. I force myself to move, but one step is enough for something to crack beneath my shoe. I look down and see dead crows with feathers as black as my own hair lying on the road, soaked in blood. Their azure eyes are glassy, their wings broken at their sides. I reach for one dead body, but the moment I touch it, all of them catch fire. Wind carries away the ashes that remain in the wake of flames before I can collect them; I can feel them, still warm, slipping through my fingers._

 _I sink onto the cold hard ground, my broken cries echoing the glass city. Nobody cares; there's no-one there._

 _Then darkness engulfs everything._


	3. Chapter 3: Clary

"You left your right side open again."

If I had a penny for every time I've heard those words in the last three days, I'd be richer than Croesus.

"C'mon, get up." Jamie commands without any sign of compassion for my aching back. She's the one who got me landed on it not five seconds ago. "We're not done yet."

I bite the inside of my cheek and force my beaten body to move. Three days of training with her and I feel like I've been chewed and spat out by a dragon. My legs hurt, my arms hurt, my back hurt; there isn't a single _cell_ in my body that doesn't hurt.

But I won't give her the pleasure of hearing me complain. _I won't._

"Most of your opponents will be bigger and stronger than you." She says matter-of-factly as I rise to my feet again. No matter how much I try, I can't detect the insulting note in her tone. "You need to be faster and smarter than them."

"What about the runes?" I ask out of desire for a break as much as out of curiosity. "Don't they make you faster and stronger?"

"The runes won't be of much use to you if you don't know how to use the extra speed and strength." She replies evenly as she circles me around like a hungry predator. "Observe your enemy." She raises her blade; my grip on my own tightens. "Don't _guess_ what they might do. _See_ what they're going to do."

She aims at my left side with her blade, but then swiftly changes the direction of her attack; it's only because of the warning that she gave me that I manage to block her hit. Before she can overpower me with sheer strength, I break the contact between our blades and jump away. While she's regaining her balance, I swing at her left side, but the metal clangs as the blades collide again. I clench my teeth, careful not to be caught off guard by a sudden leg-kick. That's how I ended up on my back the last time (and at least half a dozen times before that).

Suddenly, she pulls away; her unexpected move (for she's never pulled away first before) takes me completely by surprise, causing me to stumble forward. I don't get the chance to properly regain my balance, because all I can do is desperately block another hit. She continues to stab at me, faster and faster with each move. I barely have the time to figure out how to defend myself; I can't even think about planning a counterattack. Seven or eight clashes of blades later, I feel my back bump into a wall. Startled, I lose my grip on the blade and Jamie uses the opportunity to knock it out of my hand.

"Never get distracted." She bows down and snatches the fallen blade. Then she offers it back to me, hilt first. "In a real fight, it'll get you killed."

I take the blade from her without any comment. I glance at her face to see if my lack of response annoys her, but she just returns to the centre of the room and turns to me, ready for another round.

To my everlasting surprise, I haven't heard a single insult of a sneering remark from her since we began training on Valentine's command (I wanted to argue, but thought better of it – learning a thing or two about fighting could prove useful, even if I had to bear having Jamie as a teacher). She's just…distant, I don't know how else to describe it. As if she's always thinking about something else and does the fighting on autopilot. I can't even begin to guess what's going on inside her head and I have no intention of asking. She wouldn't tell me even if I did anyway. She'd probably say it was none of my business.

"Attack me." She orders, raising her blade again.

I sigh in frustration before I can stop myself. If there's something I truly hate about these trainings, it's when she says that. Attacking first is simply not my thing. I always either rush or hesitate too much. I have a better grasp on the battle when I'm not the one initiating it; then I feel it's like a dance with beforehand determined steps that I simply have to follow (even if they always end with me sprawled on the floor). When I have to make the first move, I feel like Jamie can easily turn it to her advantage simply because she knows how to react to every move I might make.

It's even enough (along with the protest from my sore muscles that can't take this tempo anymore) to make me swallow my pride – just this once.

"Can we have a break?" I ask hopefully.

"In fifteen minutes." She answers without a beat. "Attack me."

I dare glance around the room, despite her standing in front of me with a blade in her hands. She won't kill me for that (will she?).

"How can you tell time in here?" There's no clock on any of the walls.

"You still have the strength to stand on your feet now." She says casually, gesturing for me to attack her with her hand. "In fifteen minutes, you won't."

I tighten my hold on the blade as anger bubbles within me. Really, what did I expect?

"Honestly, I'm surprised you've managed to restrain yourself for almost three days." I snarl as I try to find a weakness in her defence. I'm not as reluctant to try to stab her anymore.

She raises her eyebrows, looking genuinely confused.

"From insulting me." I clarify coldly, growing even more irritated at her display of bewilderment.

"That wasn't an insult." She insists. "That was a fact. You're barely standing as it is."

I snort sarcastically and raise my blade higher up defiantly. If only that move didn't send a wave of painful throbs through my arm.

"Then what's the point of those extra fifteen minutes?" _To get me to drop dead in exhaustion?_

"The only way to build up strength is to push yourself further than you think you can go." She explains so straightforwardly I can't even think she's talking rubbish. She truly believes what she's saying. "You keep going, even when you're so tired you'd stop breathing if it wasn't a reflex."

Well, I most certainly am _that_ tired. My legs barely carry me. My arms feel like they're going to fall off at any moment. But I force myself to raise the blade (whose tip already dropped too close to the floor when I didn't pay attention), determined to prove it will take a lot more than three days of training as a Shadowhunter to break me.

I swing at her with all the strength I have left. Our blades collide with a loud clang. And another. And another. We move from one side of the room to the other, like dancers in a ballroom, dancing to a lethal symphony. I even manage to push aside the exhaustion that's slowly consuming me; all that matters is my opponent and the blades.

But I know I can't keep up with Jamie for long. She's playing a long game here, trying to tire me out. I can't simply dance to the tune she's playing; I need to change the rhythm.

When our blades collide again, I let them stay in the hateful embrace for a heartbeat and then let mine slide down Jamie's, so I get the chance to kick at her calves with my leg as I've seen her do. Unfortunately, she realizes just in time what I'm trying to do; she jumps backwards and avoids my kick. She lands gracefully like a cat and uses the momentum to jab forward. I barely manage to raise my blade in front of my face before her blade could tear it open. I know I have no chance with her standing and me kneeling in front of her, so I break the contact between the blades and roll over, barely avoiding her blade, which stabs the floor instead of my skull. Unfortunately, before I can scramble to my feet, she jumps at me and grabs my wrists. She pins them against the floor above my head (with the blade still in my hand), holding me as tightly as iron chains would.

"Technically," I gasp for breath, "You lost your blade first."

"Technically," She drawls sarcastically, "If this was a real fight, you'd be dead. Blade or no blade."

I can see drops of sweat on her face; it brings me a great amount of satisfaction to know she has to actually put effort into beating me. Admittedly, she could still probably keep going for hours while I feel next to dead, but it's enough for me to feel proud of myself – at least until she squeezes my wrists to the point of unbearable pain. I let out an unwilling whimper, forced to drop the blade. She takes hold of it before I can react and then gets onto her feet, leaving me breathless and sprawled on the floor.

"If you haven't figured it out by now," I lift my head off the floor so I can look at her as she speaks, but I have no strength for anything else, "The point is to stay alive."

I breathe out heavily and let my head fall onto the floor again, my eyes closing even before I feel the wood against the back of my head. I have no strength or will left to battle Jamie, with words or blades. I just want her out of my sight. She might not mock me as much as I've expected her too, but it doesn't make having my ass handed to me by her any more enjoyable.

"Will you get up today or…?"

For heaven's sake, is she serious?

"If I don't measure up to your standards, why did you even agree to train me?" It's only the mere force of anger that gets me to stand up and then approach her, my hands clenched into fists.

Without giving me an answer, she throws me the blade. I barely manage to catch it, but I have no time to get a firmer grasp on it, because I'm forced to urgently block her latest attack.

"Because," She hisses into my face, so we wouldn't be heard, "As long as I'm stuck in here, it's not like I can refuse…"

She hasn't even finished the sentence when she suddenly grabs my wrist and twists it until I'm once again forced to let the blade go. I curse under my breath, angry with myself for having fallen for that stupid _use_ - _talk_ - _as_ - _distraction_ trick.

"You're distracted again." She picks the blade up while I massage my aching wrist. "If you can't keep focus…"

"I'll die, I know." I interrupt her curtly.

"You don't really seem aware of that." She says coldly, obviously having lost patience. "If you were, you'd try harder."

"I'm trying as hard as I can!" I protest sharply; I haven't got though everything I have only to listen to some arrogant girl belittle me. "Until a week ago, I didn't even know all of this even existed! Now you expect me to learn things you've been learning your entire life in a matter of days!"

Jamie's eyes narrow threateningly, but before she can answer, the tense silence that lingers between us is interrupted by union of two voices that utter one word: _Valentine._

As one, Jamie and I turn to the door, where the two women Valentine has tasked with keeping an eye on us stand with their heads bowed. Next to them is the man that's the object of their adoration and respect – my father.

He ignores them, his gaze focused on Jamie and me. His expression doesn't change in the slightest as his eyes wander between me and her. Not for the first time, I wonder if he even knows he and I share blood; as much as I hate it, I can't change the fact that he's my biological father. But he doesn't treat me any differently than he treats Jamie. If I'm being honest, that's a relief. I can clearly imagine the look of utter disgust she would shoot me every moment of every day if she learned I was Valentine's daughter.

"I've brought you another student." He addresses Jamie, as if he was Santa Claus bringing her another present for Christmas.

As if on a cue, a tall, blond-haired guy walks into the room, shooting us all a wary gaze. When his dark (I think they're blue, but I can't be completely sure) eyes pause on me, I look away, suddenly too aware of my ruffled state. I wipe away sweat off my forehead as subtly as I can, hoping I don't look exactly as dreadful as I feel. Not that it matters really; why would he show any interest in me, especially when he sees how easily Jamie can beat me?

"Who is he?" Jamie asks coldly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Valentine doesn't answer her, but turns to the guy, who looks alarmed that he's already in the centre of the attention.

"John." He clears his throat nervously. "John Waters."

"As it seems, he's got the Angel's blood running through his veins, but like Clarissa, he never knew about it." Valentine explains with a nod in my direction, which I really could have done without. Fury at him rushes through me; he clearly didn't bother to even ask for John's name before bringing him here, evidently against his will. How could have Mom ever married a guy like him? How could have she ever _loved_ him?

As if sensing my disdain, Valentine breaks eye-contact between us and turns to Jamie again. "We're going to need every Shadowhunter we can get on our side. I'm sure he'll flourish under your tutelage."

I cast a sideways glance at Jamie's face, careful not to be noticed. For a moment, anger flashes in her eyes, as if she might send Valentine and his decision to waste her abilities on teaching rookies to hell. With visible effort, she manages to swallow down her irritation and put on a mask of composure.

"Does he have any experience?" She glances at John briefly, as if he was livestock she's considering buying, and then returns her gaze to Valentine.

Valentine looks at John over his shoulder, but remains silent. It's only after few moments of uncomfortable silence that Joh realizes _he's_ supposed to answer.

"What kind of experience?" His voice isn't completely even when he addresses Jamie.

If he ended up here as I assume he did – he saw people he shouldn't have seen and then they kidnapped him – I'm not surprised in the slightest that he's so reluctant to speak to any of us. He probably wishes he'd remained oblivious to this world and it to him. My mom, Luke and even Simon now are a part of this world; for me, there's no-one left in the mundane world. I wonder who John was taken away from, whom he lost, perhaps forever.

"Fighting." Jamie forces the word through her teeth. For no apparent reason, she seems to be just as unwilling to speak to John as he is to speak to her.

 _In her eyes, he's just a mundane, like me._ I remember what Jace told me about the complexity of Jamie's views on mundanes – though I don't see what's so complicated about absolute resentment. _She probably sees him as just another waste of her time and energy._

John blinks at that open display of what must look to him like irrational animosity, but then straightens his back, as if having decided he wouldn't show fear.

"I'm pretty good at archery." He says, looking directly at Jamie.

I expect her to snort mockingly, but she only turns on her heel and goes to grab a bow and three arrows that are lying on a table in the corner. She'd probably been polishing her shooting skills before we started with our second training session of the day (we train twice a day; she's always in the training room before I get there and I'm always the first one to leave it). She hands John the bow and arrows and glances at the nearby target, as if to say ' _Okay, show us what you've got._ '.

I hold my breath as John notches the first arrow into the bow. To his credit, his hands aren't shaking despite the pressure he must be under. He must be thinking we're some kind of assassin guild and we want to hire him – or that we're going to kill him if he doesn't meet our expectations.

The first arrow hits bullseye.

It takes a moment for me to realize I'm staring at him with my mouth open. I shake my head slightly and cross my arms over my chest, trying to imitate Jaime's (seemingly) unimpressed pose.

The second arrow hits so close to the first they're touching.

I glance at Jamie. She still looks indifferent, her mouth a flat line, as if she sees this kind of skill every day. I roll my eyes without thinking; as much as I hate to admit it, she can look down on _me_ , because I really have no experience with any kind of weapon. There's no way she can look down on _this_.

The third arrow lands on the other side of the first one, their edges touching.

 _Pretty_ good at archery? This guy must be the embodiment of modesty.

John looks at Jamie again; in the corner of my eye, I notice Valentine's gaze is fixed on her as well. They're both waiting to hear her evaluation. I find that confusing; why would _Valentine_ care about her opinion? For a reason I still haven't figured out, he insisted she taught _me_ ; I doubt he cared whether she wanted to do it or not. So, what's different about this guy?

"He's good." Jamie says at last, her words echoing unusually loudly in the silent room. "At archery."

"You're going to teach him the rest." Valentine answers straightaway. Then, to my discomfort, he looks at me. "It'll also give Clarissa time to catch her breath. As I hear, you haven't exactly gone easy on her."

Jamie doesn't even as much as look at me. There's no clearer message as to what a disappointment of a student I am.

"Demons spare no-one." She states coldly.

If I wasn't sure there was no way she could have found out the truth, I'd think her unsaid words were: ' _Not even your daughter._ '.

"Better me than them."

In some moments, I would fiercely disagree, but this isn't one of them. As much as we both loathe spending time together, there's no denying she's been putting effort into teaching me. Her lessons, as painful as they are, may one day save my life.

"I agree." Valentine nods with a smirk on his face. I can't help the feeling he and Jamie constantly wage a private war of their own; I only wish I knew what it was about. "Still, John and Clarissa are no match for you on their own. Perhaps it would be beneficial for all of you if there were two of them against you."

Once again, I expect a _please_ - _I_ - _can-take-down-two-rookies-while-blindfolded_ snort from Jamie, but the only change in her expression is the narrowing of her eyes. I notice her hands have clenched into fists, but I can't believe she'd actually dare strike Valentine, especially for an offence (if it can even count as one) as meaningless as this. I thought I could read her, but it seems I was wrong.

"Alright." She swallows hard, as if she might choke on her saliva. "I'll train him."

Valentine studies her intently for a few moments, as if challenging her resolution.

I notice she can't hold his gaze for long. I understand he's the most frightening man in town, but I've seen Jamie showing no fear in face of a bunch of furious vampires. How can Valentine, who doesn't even seem intent on harming her, scare her more than them?

"Excellent." He nods and gestures to John. "You can start tomorrow. We'll give John time to settle in."

Hearing Valentine refer to me and Jamie as…well, almost as if we were his _family_ is like an itch I can't scratch. We're not here willingly, we don't share his beliefs and we aren't going to fight for him. I might be his biological daughter, but that man is not my father. If anyone can bear that title, it's Luke.

"What do you people even want from me?"

I tear my eyes away from Valentine and turn my gaze to John. He's still holding the bow in his hands, but there are no arrows he could use to shoot us, as much as he might want to.

"We want you to fulfil your true potential, John." Valentine gestures at the people in the room that are wearing black. "We can teach you many things."

"I don't want to learn anything from you, especially not…" He glances reluctantly at Jamie and swallows hard, "…How to kill people."

"We do not kill people." Valentine lies as effortlessly as I draw breath. He'd kill every Shadowhunter, mundane or Downworlder who would get in his way without remorse. "We kill demons."

John's eyes widen in disbelief. I can tell what he's thinking; I've thought it myself not so long ago.

"Demons?" He lets out a short, hysterical laugh. "You people are crazy. There's no such thing as demons."

Valentine isn't even slightly thrown off balance by his refusal to believe him.

"Amarion." He calls evenly – to no-one, it seems.

 _Great._ I think to myself sarcastically. _I have a father who's not only a megalomaniac but also talks to himself. Just great._

Suddenly (and to my relief), a man appears at the door, looking directly at Valentine.

'Man' might be a too ordinary word to describe him. I'm so overwhelmed with the need to draw him that I can feel my fingers itch with the lack of pencil and paper. White-haired and fair-skinned, he is sunlight captured in ice. I don't even find him attractive as much as simply _otherworldly_. His perfect features are unearthly; if I was asked to draw an angel, this is what he would look like.

"This young man doesn't believe demons exist." Valentine nods in John's direction without looking at the newcomer. "Prove him wrong."

In a heartbeat, darkness descends on the room – or just on my mind. Despite my eyes being wide open, I see nothing but blackness. The silence is so complete I can't even hear the sound of my own breathing. It's unnerving, making my heart jump into my throat. The scent of sulphur and rotten flesh fills my nostrils and I taste salt on my tongue. Suddenly I'm choking on the salty liquid – on the blood. There's so much of it; I can't breathe!

"Stop it." A voice cuts sharply through the silence – Jamie's voice.

A moment later, I can see the training room and the people in it again. My knees feel so weak I think I might fall, but with the last shred of will I manage to force my legs to remain upright. My heart pounds so wildly it physically hurts and I feel like I might start choking again with every breath I take.

Next to me, with her eyes closed and her face scowled, Jamie looks like she has a nasty headache. Her hands are shaking at her sides, her breaths coming out short and shallow.

I could just hug her for freeing me of that…I'm not sure it was an illusion.

"What…" John's voice draws my attention. He doesn't seem in any better shape than Jamie or me. His skin's gone pale as marble, his hands shaking even harder than hers. "What did you…"

"What you've just seen is one of many worlds where demons come from." Valentine interrupts him evenly, like a teacher correcting a student. "There were the same as ours once, before demons conquered them."

I didn't fully believe Jace and Jamie's story until I killed that demon in my house with my own two hands. If I'd been shown _this_ , I would surely have believed everything much more quickly. It was as if we'd literally been taken to that world and felt the breath of death in it on our own skins. Even the briefest moment of thinking of it makes me shiver.

"As you're here, you can help Clarissa regain her strength."

My head snaps towards Valentine. Before I can insist I want nothing from the man who looks like an angel, but is seemingly anything but, Jamie speaks up first.

"No."

I raise my eyebrows at her in bewilderment. _Is she actually on_ _ **my**_ _side?_

For a moment, Amarion's white eyebrows arch upwards, causing wrinkles to appear on his perfectly smooth forehead. Then I blink and he looks just as indifferent as before and I think I must have imagined it all.

"I've healed _your_ injury." He says evenly, making a step closer to Jamie. "Why do you think I'd harm _her_?"

For a moment, I feel like I'm lying on a beach, my toes curling in the soft, warm sand, breeze whispering lullabies in my ear. My eyes begin to flutter shut; it's only the sound of Jamie's voice that snaps me out of my reverie.

"She'll remain just as she is." She forces the words through her clenched teeth, shooting him a defying look. "She needs to feel pain and learn not to think about it."

The excuse matches her words to me from before, but I can't shake off the feeling she shares my opinion on the white-haired man – fears him as much as I do. _And here I thought I'd never have anything in common with Jamie Lightwood._

Amarion takes another step towards her, with elegance of a cat closing in on its prey. Jamie bites her lower lip fiercely, her struggle not to back away as clear as day.

"You've been feeling pain for quite a long time," His voice turns gentler; I run my nails into my palms to keep myself focused on reality instead of drifting off into daydream again, "And you still can't stop thinking about it."

Jamie's features freeze in absolute shock. Her body seems to have petrified; I can barely see her chest rise and fall as she breathes. She's gone pale as ghost, even paler than she was after we'd been exposed to the visions of the demon world. Her blue eyes are wide and filled with terror; she looks like a child witnessing her worst nightmares becoming reality.

"Leave her alone."

It's only when Jamie's head abruptly turns towards me that I realize those words came from my mouth. I turn away from her instantly, but I can still feel her gaze on my face. She probably thinks I've spoken up because I think her too weak to defend herself. But I haven't. I've spoken up on her behalf because she'd spoken up on mine. In this place, with these people, we're the only ally the other one has – whether we like it or not. It's time we both accepted it or we'll never get out.

Besides, I owe her for helping me and Simon escape Valentine. If he'd caught us then, he'd have both Simon and Mom firmly in his clutches. While I can count on him not harming Mom – if he intended to hurt her, he would already have done it – I doubt he'd restrain himself from hurting Simon if I even breathed too loudly in his direction.

( _Simon. Is he alright? He must be worried sick, with me having left without a word. But if I'd told him what I intended to do, he would have followed me. It's safer for him with Jace._ )

( _Jace. Is_ _ **he**_ _alright? How badly has Alec's betrayal affected him? Has he already come up with a plan to rescue Jamie, me and Mom?)_

"Natalia. Jane." Valentine addresses the women at the door, who haven't spoken since he entered the room (or I simply haven't heard them talk). "Take them to their rooms. They've had enough excitement for one day."

My head snaps up.

"I want to see my mom first." I insist firmly. I need to see her, to find reassurance that will help me forget the horrors whose presence I've felt in the other world. Despite not having said a word or even opened her eyes, she's still my greatest source of strength. Just a glimpse of her peaceful face or the feeling of her hand in mine is enough for me to regain my determination to save us both from these people. I won't fail her, no matter what stands in my way.

Valentine nods his permission at the brown-haired woman I've come to refer as my bodyguard. I join her at the door, careful not to meet anyone's eyes, but in the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Jamie staring at me, confusion colouring her features. She's still at loss as to why I would ever help her.

I nod at her as briefly (which is more twitch of a neck than a nod), offering a truce. Neither of us can escape her on our own, she must know that. As much as we dislike each other, we need to work together.

 _And now there's someone else here who might be willing to help us._ I muse as I catch a glimpse of John's pale face. _He obviously doesn't want to be here any more than we do and he'll surely be on board with escaping this place. I just need to convince Jamie to be less hostile towards him._

 _Jamie? Less hostile?_ A less optimistic part of my mind wonders sarcastically. _About as likely as stars falling off the sky. I might have more luck with the stars._

 **An answer for _Guest_ : Thank you so much for your compliments on my writing. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter too :) **

**I'm sorry for any grammar or spelling mistake.**


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